


What's a soulmate?

by Seraph_Novak



Series: Destiel Soulmate AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Complete, Cute, First Meetings, M/M, Naive, Rebel Dean, Rusty people skills Castiel, The world is black and white, Young Castiel, Young Dean, start of a series, until you meet your soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraph_Novak/pseuds/Seraph_Novak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Dean craned his head over the excited class to catch a glimpse of the stranger. He looked about his age, but he was small and slight, with big eyes and messy hair that made Dean smile for some strange reason."</i>
</p>
<p>In a world of grey, Dean finds colour in the most unlikely of places. Part 1/3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's a soulmate?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something that's been playing around in my head for a while... I know this concept has already been used many times, but I wanted to flesh it out a bit more. If anyone is interested in this story, I'll turn it into a series! Please just let me know ♥

Dean hated the grey smudge of life surrounding him. He was young – only eight years old – but everyone was taught the concept of soulmates early on in life. He understood that the world was more than what he could see at the time; he knew that he was missing out on these things called _colours_ , and that one day, when he was older, he'd suddenly see the truth.

Oh, he used to long for that day.

From the age of five, teachers had started drilling the mysterious idea of colours into his mind. Reds and blues and yellows, greens and purples and oranges. He knew them all off by heart, he just hadn't seen them before.

"Can anyone tell me what colour an _apple_ is, then?"

Dean's hand shot up instinctively, because _of course_ he knew what colour an _apple_ was; it was the same colour as tomatoes and firetrucks and blood (although, he wasn't supposed to talk about that in school). Red meant anger and passion, violence and love.

"Ah, Dean," Mrs Wicks shot him a tired look from across the classroom, "How 'bout we let someone else have a go today, alright?"

He threw his hands into the air and sighed, "But it's red, Miss! You've told us like, a _gazillion_ times!"

"Quit bein' a smarty pants and sit your butt down, please."

Dean was rebellious, but he wasn't stupid; Mrs Wicks made kids stay inside at break time if you were naughty, and that was the only time he was allowed to play pretend with Charlie. Some of the older boys said they were too old to still play games, but Dean didn't care. Sometimes, pretending was better than the real thing.

"Sorry, Miss…"

Alistair pulled a face at him from the third row, and the class carried on as normal. Dean gradually slumped further into his chair as the lesson dragged on, willing time to speed up so he could run outside and scream into the snow. Dean hated the snow; it was the ugliest white he'd ever seen. His mom had tried to convince him it was beautiful once, but all he saw was a huge blanket of _nothing_ covering the world he longed to explore.

"Sorry, miss," The door suddenly opened and Mrs Jones walked in, little boy in tow, "It seems we have a new recruit this morning."

Dean craned his head over the excited class to catch a glimpse of the stranger. He looked about his age, but he was small and slight, with big eyes and messy hair that made Dean smile for some strange reason.

"Oh, do we now?" Mrs Wicks replied, hands on hips. She was using that annoying adult voice that Dean hated – the one that made them sound like idiots, "And what's your name, mister?"

The boy stared blankly for a few moments (and Dean could see Mrs Wicks' smile wavering) before stepping forward and taking her hand. "Castiel," He told her in a serious voice, "I'm named after the angel of Thursday."

Dean winced. Bullies like Lilith and Alistair absolutely hated all things religious, and poor Castiel had just handed himself over on a platter. He felt kinda sorry for him, but at least people like Garth would be spared for once. He tried to help where he could, but there was more of them than there was of him, and he hadn't exactly grown into his muscles like they had.

Mrs Wicks took Castiel's hand and smiled, "Well ain't that a mouthful, Castiel?"

"It's a simple three-syllable name," The boy said with a frown, "The pronunciation is fairly easy to comprehend."

The teachers balked at Castiel for a moment, exchanging worried looks. Dean's class had learnt about syllables ages ago, but hardly any of them really understood what it meant. Words like _comprehend_ , however, made his head hurt, and he suddenly wanted to ask this new boy a bunch of questions about the angel of Thursday.

"Well, uh… How 'bout you go take a seat over there?"

Castiel followed Mrs Wicks' pointed finger over to the back of the room, eyes landing on Dean with a squinted stare. Dean stared back, heart thumping erratically in his chest, and tried to keep a straight face while the boy made his way over.

"I'm Castiel," He nodded his head once he'd taken his seat, "Who are you?"

"My, uh… My name's Dean."

Suddenly, the world quivered and flashed. Bolts of bright light cracked the grey surrounding them, pulsing like a heartbeat in his head. The classroom jolted into strange, foreign shades of not-grey (because, whatever that was, it _wasn't_ grey) – vivid, unimaginable shades that he'd never even seen before.

"Do you see that?" He asked Castiel in a worried hiss, "What's happening?"

The other boy simply frowned and looked around, tilting his head at the strips of grey peeling off the walls, making room for something brighter and clearer.

Dean panicked, "The room's on fire!" He shrieked, grabbing Castiel's shoulder and shaking it, "What the hell's happening?!"

Mrs Wicks gave him a worried look, and Alistair and his cronies started snorting like animals. How could they not see it? The world was ending! It was too much, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't -

"Don't worry," Castiel suddenly said, placing a small hand onto his shoulder, "The world isn't ending. It's just changing."

Dean looked him in the eyes and gasped. They weren't grey. They _couldn't_ be grey. They were deep and strange and beautiful, boring into his face as his fingers curled around his shoulder and squeezed, promising him it would all be okay.

"Dean Winchester!" Mrs Wicks hollered, snapping him out of his trance, "Get yourself to the Principal's office _now_ , young man!"

Slowly, the world fizzled and faded back to grey as he scraped back his chair. The room wasn't on fire anymore, but his heart was beating too fast and his palms were sweaty.

"You're such a freak!" Alistair sneered.

Beside him, Castiel clenched his fists and growled at the older boy, "He's not a freak! You're are a… a… an _assbutt_ , that's what _you_ are!"

Mrs Wicks squeezed the bridge of her nose and sighed, "Take your new friend with you, Dean, while you're at it."

Castiel followed him out of the room quietly, shooting Alistair a glare as they went by. In the corridor, he turned to Dean with a solemn expression and shook his head. "Don't listen to him. I don't believe you're a freak, Dean."

"Thanks, Cas," He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, "Can I call ya Cas?"

"It's a simple three-syllable –"

"Yeah, I got that! But it's easier to say," He reasoned, "Dontcha want a nickname?"

Cas frowned, "I've never had a nickname before."

"What do your friends call you then?"

"I don't have any friends."

Dean pursed his lips and considered that for a moment. He had no idea what had just happened in class, but Cas had stuck up for him without hesitation; the least he could was show him the same kindness.

"Well," He smiled, looping an arm around Cas' shoulders and leading him towards the Principal's office, "You do now, buddy."


End file.
